You Have Me
by Land Turtle
Summary: When their father died, Sam and Dean were left broken. Now all they have is each other. Ambiguous POV


You Have Me - Kirsten Moore

It was cold. It was so, so cold. Everything hurt, everything was wrong.

"He's coming back, he'll be here"

That small pitiful voice. It pierced the silence that was threatening to suffocate us both. I felt an icy hand clamp onto my arm, he was anchoring himself to me.

"I know he'll come back. he promised"

I stopped listening to him. I blocked him out, I allowed his voice to blur into an incoherent drone. But, I could not bring myself to not see him. His pale face with eyes so wide and his small mouth still forming the shapes of the words I refused to hear. I tried to open my mouth to offer something, to let him know I was here, to make him stop speaking but no sound escaped me. I closed my mouth, my teeth grinding together.

He was still looking me, his eyes seem to take up half of his face, so large and dark. He was still speaking. I wanted to make him stop, make him see the truth. I wanted so shake him, to scream at him. I wanted to cry and howl. We were alone, how could he not see that? He was gone, and he was not going to come back. Not this time.

It was getting colder, I could see my breaths leave my mouth. Dragon smoke, we used to say. His whole body shuddered, we shook together. I curled my arms around his waist, my hands pulling him into me, eradicating all distance between us. He crushed himself to me, I could make out his soft sobs.

"I'm scared"

His voice was distorted, weak and thick sounding. 'Me too' I wanted to whisper back at him. Instead I held him tighter, crushing us both together. I was scared, I was so very scared. We stood huddled, the coldness seeping through us.

I wanted to tell him everything was okay, that we would be fine. That tomorrow we will realise that this has all been a horrible dream. I've been wanting to say that to him since she left. I didn't know how to comfort my broken excuse for a brother. This wasn't the same as a scraped knee or a sore head. I could not scoop him up and tell him that the world was fine, that he was fine.

We weren't fine. His face was too hollow and gaunt for a man his age, he was a faded old man in the body of the young. His eyes seemed too big. He looked too vulnerable and frail, like one too tight hug and he could crumble in my arms. His thin fingers were wrapped tight around my

waist, his eyes rimmed with red. His fair fell lank against his face, casting shadows across his face.

He clung to me, and me to him. We were bound together, nothing could tear us apart now. It was getting dark, we were becoming swallowed by the shadows. His short breaths and his strong form that fit against mine were the only things to remind me he was still here. I still had him.

He buried closer still, I could feel the shudders running through him, shaking me with him. Or maybe I was shaking him. It didn't matter, we were one now. Me and him. Only us.

He had reacted differently from me, I guess one could say he was in denial. I had not encountered this feeling. Of course, he had left us. I had always known he would would leave us. There was no doubt about that. It was obvious. But not to the man stood by me. No, he believed he would return, that he would slap us on the back and we'd all jump in the impala.

Instead of denial, I felt only anger and betrayal. I wanted to scream, to destroy, to show everyone what he had done to me, to us. How he had broken us, tore us into tiny pieces.

He had wished for him to come back. I had not begged his return. He was gone. What good would begging do?

We stood here again. I brought him here, because I wanted - no needed - him to realise, to understand. He still refused, he fought against me, he fought against the truth. The truth that stood blatantly in front of us.

He stilled called for him in the night, when bad dreams plagued him and the darkness threatened to swallow him. He still did not come, instead it was me. It was me who curled beside him and allowed his tears to stain my clothes. It was me who held him while he cried like no man should ever cry, sobs wracking his form. It was me that remained. It was me and me alone.

He had left us. The one who was supposed to love us and care for us unconditionally. The proof was in front of us, his name carved into stone along with his birth and death dates.

"I want Dad"

He was falling apart, both of us were. He had left us broken.

"You have me" I answered.

He has me, because I'm all he has left.


End file.
